


The Wild Man of Skaros

by mothdads



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lance only wanted to take photographs of the castle, M/M, Monster Keith AU, Shiro will appear?, We're probably gonna have the Lance fam in here at some point, keith rescues him (kinda), lance nearly dies when exploring a ruined castle, poor boy, tags to be updated as events progress, the conspiracy board returns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothdads/pseuds/mothdads
Summary: Lance McClain was only visiting Skaros as a tourist, but when he tumbles headfirst into the ruins of the haunted Castle Carnarvon, he finds so much more than a sprained ankle and a couple of bruises. He finds a legend.





	1. Chapter 1

Lance McClain had always been more than meets the eye. At first glance one might see a ladies man and an idiot, the least impressive of a family of exceptional individuals. And, in some ways, perhaps that view held a little traction. Lance was, after all, an incorrigible flirt, and perhaps he didn't stand out immediately next to Samantha the demolitions expert, Ricky the family man or Max the young genius, but there was more to the young man than met the eye, infinitesimally so, for it was only in times of crisis that Lance McClain came into his own light. 

At least, that was how Lance liked to think of himself. It was a vision which stood up to this day, however, Lance was not at all sure right now that his ego, much less the rest of him, was going to survive the night.

Surfice to say, he was in big trouble.

 

He had come to the castle to take photos. A perfectly innocent idea, right? So, maybe the place had been sealed off to the public, but that was only to prevent the local teenagers from smoking under the arches or something like that. Or at least, so he had thought. 

Now, as he was pursued down corridor after crumbling stone corridor by a monstrous, yellow-eyed monstrosity, he was not so certain that the big 'No Entry' sign hadn't been there for a very good reason after all. 

Sprinting as fast as he possibly could, his long legs burning with the effort, Lance turned down another narrow dripping corridor, water seeping into his converse as he splashed along. 

He could hear other footsteps too, fast and pursuing, gaining on him with every step. Whatever it was, or whoever, did not seem to sound tired at all- Lance could not hear panting, or even breathing! It was as if the creature had no mouth, breathed no air!  
Consumed with panic, Lance felt himself collide with something- hard, legs giving way as he desperately struggled against the hard surface- a latched door! Struggling to his feet, he flung himself at the door, again and again, with a loud animal scream that betrayed all too much fear. It was catching up, it was catching up on him, it would have him soon!

"Soon... soon..." Echoed around the damp corridor, and surely, Lance had not said that out loud! Wild with terror, Lance screamed aloud, finally knocking the door over and propelling himself past it to find-

Nothing. At his feet the floor crumbled and fell away, the remains of it strewing the open shell of a castle some floors down, disappearing yet more as it cracked beneath his feet, ominous creaking reverberating all around him.

 

The castle was mocking him. It has chosen it's unsuspecting victim, waiting for the moment to strike, and-

"Stop!" A roar came from behind him, as vicious talons cut into his arm, pulling him back from the brink, and suddenly Lance was face to face with something utterly nightmarish, vicious yellow eyes cutting him down to his flesh with only their gaze, despicably sharp teeth and a harsh mouth set in a face which wasn't human.

Like some kind of wild cat but with none of the cuteness. This being whatever it was, was a being of pure evil.

"Stop." It said again, raising another hand to Lance, who at that moment looked upon the world and saw only death, either from this foul nightmare creature or from a long descent. 

He chose the descent.

 

Using the last bit of strength he had, Lance pulled himself from the grasp of the creature, gasping as claws were ripped from his shoulder, and flung himself forward, into the abyss.  
There was a horrible moment midair as he looked out onto the world one last time, glancing to the stone as it rushed up to meet him. 

And then, no more.


	2. The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance wakes up, dead or otherwise, and finds himself very far from home.

When Lance awoke it was daytime. He could tell by the light flooding in through his closed eyes, orange light permeating through to wake him. His body felt heavier than usual, as if his entire being was weighed down by stones. He made a great effort to open his eyes, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Where on earth was he?  
Not home. He could tell that much from the bed, which was far too soft to belong to his own shitty apartment. Blinking rapidly, he attempted to survey the room. It was large, very large with paintings on the wall that looked straight out of a museum.

Obviously, the only answer for this was that he had died. He remembered now, being chased by a giant terrifying something, and falling so very far, and then- nothing.

 

This, Lance thought to himself, was utterly miserable. He had only wanted to take some photos, and now what? Well, now he was dead!

 

It could be worse though, he could have woken up in hell. Then again, wasn't there a good chance that, since biblical scriptures were open to interpretation, the fiery pit was merely a possibility, and this room actually was a part of hell. Well, Lance supposed, if this really was hell he had no time to waste upon Biblical hermeneutics.  
He attempted to move. This turned out to be a very bad idea. Lance fell back down within seconds of trying to sit up. His body felt dreadfully odd- not in an intensely painful kind of way, just in a-

Well, he couldn't quite describe it-

In strange, and very sore, but not dead sort of manner.

 

Then, the door opened. Lance froze, watching in what could have been abject terror if he was a little more awake but ended up being mere dozy caution. 

It was, on further inspection, a man. Young, perhaps Lance's age, which was not what he had expected from anyone living in a place so... so archaic.

The man was humming to himself, a peaceful little tune as he crossed over to the window, shutting the curtains slightly, cutting off the beam of light which had been shining in his eyes.   
Lance made an unintentional noise of contentment, and the figure turned around, glanced at him in passing and made a derogatory sound. 

"You're awake then." He said, surly tone not lost on Lance.

"Yeah, I am." Lance responded curtly. "You think you might tell me what the hell I'm doing here?"

The man tutted, little more than a silhouette against the light streaming in through the window. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Depends."

"On what?"

"On you telling me what the heck you're doing in my house!"

Oh? Oh. 

"This is... your house?" Lance stared wide eyed. 

The man gave him a thoroughly scathing look. "No shit, Sherlock." 

"O-oh." Lance said, going a bit pink around the ears. "I didn't know." 

 

"Yeah, I guessed." The man said, stepping closer to him, out of the light and for the first time Lance got a good read on his face. Like he had thought, the man was young, perhaps twenty? Not too tall, probably not Lance's height, though he could not tell from here. Maybe he was handsome. A little. Or at least he might be if he wasn't frowning so intensely. Which, he supposed was justified since Lance had apparently broken into his house.  
There was something unsettling about the way he looked, though, like he was not looking at Lance but staring right through him, those narrow eyes piercing into his soul. Those eyes.  
They looked human, but there was something about how they glinted in the light that made him look more like a cat than a human if you stared into them long enough. Even as he looked, he seemed to loom higher over him, like he grew inches every moment Lance looked at him, hair sticking up on end, as if some intangible wind had picked up around them.

Lance blinked. 

 

Nothing.   
There was an irate man staring at him, but just a man, and no more. There was no beast before him. 

"Would you like some macaroni cheese?"  
The man asked.

Lance blinked. Then he blinked again. What...?

"Are you feeling okay?" 

 

"Oh. Uh, I don't know? I think I'm alright. Sorry about breaking into your house."

The man nodded, apology taken, though still with as much of a scowl as he had worn before. 

"So." He said again. "Lunch? Macaroni Cheese?"

"Sure." Lance agreed weakly. "Sounds great."

"Can you stand?"

Lance shrugged. 

 

Sighing, the man reached down, clasping Lance by the shoulder with surprising strength for someone with such a slight build.   
Gently, he helped Lance to his feet. Lance looked down at himself. The little he could see of his arms from out of his sleeves (he was wearing his own clothes, thank god) was covered with bruises. Well, if anything that proved he hadn't died in the fall. Dying couldn't ache this bad!

"You were lucky," The man said, as of sensing what it was Lance was thinking about. "You fell a long way. You could easily have broken something. Or died."

"Yeah." Lance nodded his head. "I kinda thought I had for a while back there."

"Hmm." Said the man. This Lance took as an invitation to stop talking. Honestly, he wasn't in a particularly chatty mood anyway. After all, he felt like death-  
no pun intended. 

Still with a firm grip on Lance's arm, the man led him from the room, down a surprisingly warm corridor with an expensive looking, yet well worn rug underfoot. It, unlike the rest of the decor did not look English in origin. Was it Turkish, then? Possibly. Lance was not well enough versed in rug variety to say anything definitive. 

 

Near the end of the corridor there was a kitchen. Not a huge kitchen, nor indeed a terribly small kitchen. It was a comfortable looking affair, if a bit plain, and it too looked very old- like one of those kitchens you see on weird English documentaries about the past, something he had only begun watching at the behest of his sister, but had enjoyed enough that he had kept searching them out, even after she left for university, though if anyone asked, he had no interest whatsoever in the things.   
History was Max's thing after all. 

The man grunted at him, pointing to a rather rustic looking chair. Lance sat down obediently. He was not about to aggravate his host any further by refusing- the guy scowled enough as it was. 

Besides- what kind of a fool would turn down Mac n' Cheese? Ever? It didn't bear thinking about. 

"Nice place you got here." He grinned at the man, as he proceeded to... put a ready meal in the microwave?   
That was not what Lance had really expected from the guy living in an ancient castle, he would admit. 

 

"You like it?" The man sounded faintly surprised as he turned around, scowl leaving his face for just a second. 

"Sure." Lance nodded. "A bit quiet though."

"Good thing I like quiet, then." The man tilted his head to the side, observing Lance quietly. "It can be a little... lonely, though."

"You live alone, then? No family?" The question slipped out before Lance could stop himself. 

"Yes." 

"No roommates, no buddies visiting?"

"No." 

"Not even a gigantic monster creature with yellow eyes?"

The man sighed. "I am the only one who lives here. Maybe you hit your head too hard when you fell."

"Um... okay?" Lance McClain, detective supreme was not sure that was the whole truth, however, he let it slide. For now.

The microwave pinged, and the strange hermit man, who in turning around revealed that he had a mullet (truly the most disturbing thing he had seen since the strange demon creature). 

Depositing the contents into a bowl, and hissing slightly as scalding water vapour touched his hand, he set the bowl down at the table, in front of Lance. 

"Sorry it's not homemade." He said gruffly. "I'm a dreadful cook."

"No worries, no worries." Lance assured him. "I'm not complaining."

Hesitantly, he took a bite- not bad, for a ready meal. And now that he thought about it, Lance was very, very hungry. He took another bite, blowing on it until it was cool enough to eat. Boy, it was good to not be dead. 

 

By the time the man sat down at the table beside him, a mere three minutes later, Lance had already consumed three quarters of his meal.   
They ate in complete silence. The man would occasionally glance at him, and Lance would look back, but only sometimes. He was testing the waters. 

Then he stood up, quite abruptly, startling Lance a little. 

"Stay right here." He said authoritatively, placing the bowls in the sink, but never breaking eye contact with him. 

"I have to go, just for a minute. When I get back, I'm gonna want some answers. No... tomfoolery when I'm gone, okay?" 

And with that he was gone, Leaving Lance with nothing but a very distinct sense of unease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go guys, chapter two. 
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying so far! Thanks for reading, and as always I, mothdad, can be found online at mothdads.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> This is a small series to help me over my writer's block, it will be updated intermittently.  
> Contact me (Dean aka mothdad) at mothdads.tumblr.com


End file.
